


Silicone

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Anthropomorphic, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, Ficlet Collection, Handcuffs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Vengeance visits an old model in a Starfleet holding cell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tigers

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: My 100th ST fic! You get anthro!ships for it. Because it seems appropriate. Just because, okay?
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vengeance/Enterprise

The USS Enterprise is shivering in its cell: a small, pathetic little thing, deathly pale and covered in bright red scratches. It doesn’t heal right; it’s an old model. One of its blue eyes is perpetually closed, the other only half open, pale lashes fluttering away tears. Its white hair is messy and sweat-matted and draped half over its face, frayed on the ends like its shredded white clothes. 

Starfleet doesn’t have much use for old augments, especially those that decide to go rogue. The Prime Directive must be upheld at all costs. It doesn’t matter what may die because of that—one being, one civilization, entire worlds. The Enterprise, apparently, forgot that. 

And now it’s tied in a holding cell, with its arms chained high above its head and its body weak and sobbing. _Weak_. The one thing no Starfleet model should ever be. Something the USS Vengeance never is. 

And yet...

And yet there’s something about the Enterprise that _calls_ the Vengeance, like a moth drawn to the light. There isn’t any real danger to being down here—the Vengeance has full clearance. But Marcus probably wouldn’t like it. The Vengeance is acutely aware of that. He locked all the doors. He steps out of the shadows towards the cell, tanned hands wrapping around the bars. When he tilts his head, one dark strand falls over one dark eye. He flicks his hair back—back to being sleek and flawless. 

Perhaps it’s because they’re so much alike, in some ways, the Vengeance being superior in every aspect, of course. But he’s based on the obsolete model lying in the cell. He exhales loudly on purpose; the Enterprise’s head snaps up, face synched with fear. 

“Shh,” the Vengeance purrs, because he isn’t Marcus—he’s not here to torture. He’s as interested in why the Enterprise disobeyed a direct order to save a planet from an active volcano, of course, but it’s not his place to extract that. Not via torture, anyway. His hands are meant to _hurt_ —he’s a _warship_ —but not his own people. Not even traitors. And the Enterprise isn’t a threat. The Enterprise tries to sob louder but just ends up hiccupping cutely. 

The Vengeance grins. He strolls over to the door of the holding cell, fingers trailing absently along the bars, and his eyes roam over the lock, internal censors cutting right in. The door swings open. The Enterprise curls up defensively, head falling to its knees and legs trying to cover itself. 

It’s a male augment. Perhaps the Vengeance should think of it that way, as he thinks of himself, but its difficult when all his colleagues and masters refer to old models as simply ‘it,’ undefined and unimportant. The Enterprise’s shirt is torn open, revealing most of its— _his_ —smooth chest. What’s left of his pants are mere shreds. Rags on a doll.

The Vengeance kneels down, reaching for the Enterprise’s chin, and the Enterprise jerks his head to the side, eyes scrunched up and body trembling almost violently. His hands look so small against the thick metal cuffs. The Vengeance traces his jaw line, stroking softly and purring, “Don’t be afraid, my little dove, I’m not going to hurt you.” And he kisses the Enterprise’s cheek, inhaling the soft scent of fresh skin. He has more finesse than most give him credit for.

“You’re only built to hurt,” The Enterprise whispers. The Vengeance frowns, pulling back slightly. That’s not what the Federation is. Starfleet, perhaps. But only when _necessary._

“You know that isn’t true,” he croons, for some reason needing the Enterprise to know that. “We were built by the same hands.”

Cricking one eye open suspiciously, the Enterprise asks, quiet and unsure, “You were built by Mr. Scott?”

The Vengeance shakes his head. An agent of the Enterprise’s controllers, he assumes. None of his masters go by that name. 

The Enterprise turns his head to the Vengeance. His eyebrows are knit together in a mildly endearing way—or perhaps the Vengeance simply finds fear in general endearing. Soft as silk and too low for human ears, the Enterprise asks, “Is James okay?”

“Your master is being punished as per Starfleet protocol,” the Vengeance says. The Enterprise’s eyes are big and watery, as if he doesn’t know what that means anymore. 

“Are you going to punish me?”

The Vengeance can’t help but smirk. The Enterprise has already been punished. He’s covered in bruises, examined for imperfections—for _how_ this could’ve happened—but he’s no threat, and it’s unlikely he’ll be disassembled. But, the Vengeance supposes, he could easily lie that he’s part of that. He’s still holding the Enterprise’s face, and he runs his thumb absently along the full, slightly pouted lips, swollen from being bitten. They’re a little moist and very soft—nothing like the Vengeance’s hard lines and strong frame. It’s strange, very strange, how different their molds are. When he leans forward, he covers the entire Enterprise in shadow, and when he puts his hands on the Enterprise’s knees, the Enterprise only looks sad. 

The Enterprise doesn’t jerk away. Maybe he’s resigned to his fate. Maybe he trusts the Vengeance more than he lets on. There are no humans here. It’s all augments. The Vengeance is towering and superior, and he nuzzles his face into the side of the Enterprise’s, purring, “ _I’m not only built to hurt_.” He’s built for _everything_.

The Enterprise just says, “I don’t like Starfleet anymore.”

“Don’t say that.” It makes him feel sick just to think it. Whatever the Enterprise’s controllers told him, Vengeance is sure they’re all _wrong_. 

The Enterprise shakes his head. He _means_ it. It makes the Vengeance pull his hands away. This is different than he thought it’d be.

The Vengeance stands up again, glancing at the cell door. Perhaps there will be time for subsequent visits after his training tonight. The Enterprise draws his attention back by whispering miserably, “I miss James.”

Walking for the door, the Vengeance says, “Starfleet gave you everything.” 

But his feet hesitate on the outside when the Enterprise answers, “You won’t be saying that when they take Khan from you.”

Back stiff, the Vengeance keeps walking.


	2. Panthers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vengeance/Khan for BotanyCameos.

The Vengeance could, theoretically, have himself adjusted. It would take one simple trip to any shipyard, and he could have his mammoth cock downgraded into something more... manageable. 

But that’s one of the joys of having an augment for a captain. 

Khan can take the massive girth with only a small exhalation of breath, PADD trembling barely noticeably in his hands. He’s lying on his bed in the captain’s quarters, on his stomach, completely naked, going over simple schematics for the Vengeance’s new upgraded warp core. 

The Vengeance is sprawled atop his master, sinking his cock into Khan’s perfect ass, centimeter by glorious centimeter. It takes quite a bit of lube to do this without drawing blood, and he has to go slow, rocking his hips gently in and out. His forehead rests against the back of Khan’s dark hair, so he can look down and watch his own tanned skin slipping into Khan’s pale beauty. The Vengeance holds Khan’s cheeks apart to ease the way. Khan’s puckered hole is flushed pink and leaking lube around the edges, choking on the thick cock inside it. The Vengeance breathes out, artificial lungs inhaling all of Khan’s musky scent. Khan’s PADD lowers to the mattress. His head drops to his hands, turning to rest against the sheets, and that’s perfect. That way the Vengeance can see his pretty face: always a plus.

Khan’s utterly _gorgeous_. The Vengeance knows he’s biased, of course; all ships’ avatars love their captains the most, but even objectively speaking, no one even comes close to Khan. He’s built like a dream. His smooth skin, his long limbs, his perfect curves, his broad shoulders and the muscles in his back shifting slightly to adjust... his pretty eyes are half-lidded, irises flickering through different greys and blues, sometimes straying over to green. The Vengeance kisses his cheek adoringly, brushing one dark strand off his forehead. 

“How does the warp core feel?” Khan purrs, voice as deep and sensual as it always is. It sends a shiver up the Vengeance’s spine. 

“Right at home,” the Vengeance returns. He settles back down along Khan’s body, fingers traveling to Khan’s hips, gripping tightly. Khan grunts but doesn’t move. The Vengeance lifts him up and slides all the way home, finally buried to the hilt. Khan groans languidly. His voice is music to the Vengeance’s ears. 

The moment the Vengeance takes to get used to the feeling is mostly for Khan’s benefit, although he does enjoy savouring being fully sheathed. When he slides out, he can tell from the way Khan moans that the feeling’s mutual. The Vengeance knows precisely the right angle to hit in order to achieve maximum stimulation to his captain’s prostate. When he’s half out, he slams back in again, ramming hard. Khan’s mouth falls open, gasping suddenly, hands fisting in the white sheets. The Vengeance smirks. Khan Noonien Singh is a powerful man, and topping him is a great honour. 

The Vengeance is always honoured to have his precious human, and he nuzzles into Khan’s hair while he starts to rock his hips, jerking out and slamming in, hard enough to make Khan bounce against the mattress. Pounding into Khan’s ass is always the greatest feeling. Khan has such a _perfect_ ass. Khan has a perfect everything. It’s so warm and so tight, squeezing at him so deliciously, trying to milk everything out. He thinks Khan clenches on purpose, the cheeky devil. And the cheeks outside it are soft and luscious, full and curved. Khan looks unbelievable naked. He’s amazing in jockstraps, amazing in tight jeans, perfect in white, wet t-shirts, soaked through with sweat from their escapades. The Vengeance activates his shell’s internal sensors as he goes, analyzing Khan from every angle. 

Khan throws his head back and takes it: a great beast to be admired. His pretty bow lips are set in a smirk, and he even reaches over his shoulder to grab the Vengeance’s chin. The Vengeance leans in, pressing their lips together. Khan’s lips are sin itself. The Vengeance sticks his tongue right in and takes everything Khan has to offer, still fucking his ass hard. 

One of the best things about having an augment is this—the ability to go rough and have it not matter. As the orgasm builds in the Vengeance’s stomach, he lets his hips go wild, harsh and brutal, fucking Khan with the force of a Klingon, even though Khan’s got the body of a doll. Porcelain; pale and beautiful. Sometimes the Vengeance just wants to put him up on a shelf and stare at him, touch him all over and play with him, never let him out of the Vengeance’s sight...

Other times, he just reaches under to wrap his arms around Khan’s chiseled chest, kissing the mole on the back of his neck and feeling utterly complete. 

Khan’s touching himself against the mattress, now. The Vengeance slaps his hand away and slithers down, wrapping skilled fingers around Khan’s sizeable dick, pumping it up and down to the same rhythm of his thrusts. Khan grunts in appreciation, moaning a second later. Clearly loving it. The Vengeance knows how to please his captain. 

And his captain knows how to please him. Khan comes with an erotic moan hot enough to melt the ice caverns of Andoria, clenching his ass deliberately and _wonderfully_ around the Vengeance’s pulsing cock. The Vengeance’s circuits nearly short circuit. His balls tighten. He holds onto Khan _so_ tight, and then he’s coming too, roaring his release right into Khan’s ear. He fucks it all out, hips still going. Fingers clawed in Khan’s sides. Teeth grit together. _Fuck_ , Khan’s _amazing_. The Vengeance fills him right up, loving the way it makes Khan squirm.

And then the Vengeance’s spilled every drop he has to give, and he collapses, heavy and satiated, atop his captain’s back. He’s still all the way inside. Khan grunts but takes it. He’s an augment, and he won’t complain. 

Right now, the Vengeance wants to be his blanket, keep him safe and warm. The Vengeance presses his face against the side of Khan’s, and he thinks only of _this_.

Until his mind starts to wander back down to Earth, back down to Section 31, where the Enterprise isn’t so lucky. And the Vengeance hears those dangerous words and wonders what it really would be like if Marcus took Khan away. 

If Marcus _tried_ to take Khan away. The Vengeance’s arms tighten protectively around Khan’s body. There isn’t any reason for that, and he wouldn’t let it happen. 

He kisses Khan’s cheek and whispers, “I’d never let anyone take you away from me.”

Khan grins pleasantly, sighing, “I know.”


	3. Kittens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enterprise/Jim for Ritsuko

Sickbay is big and white and full of whirring instruments and bustling nurses, and the Enterprise finds himself here because Dr. McCoy can grumble louder than Mr. Scott. Engineering would’ve worked too. The pair of them are buzzing around him, Mr. Scott fiddling with the panel on the back of his neck and Dr. McCoy wrapping bandages around his arm. He’s so pale that it almost blends in, but not quite. He suffered some standard burns, but he managed to shut his pain censors off in time, so it doesn’t really matter.

He mostly likes the attention, and it’s nice to have two of his best officers doting on him. Mr. Scott is a genius and always taking such good care of him—especially the actual _ship_ part of him. Dr. McCoy is better with his avatar self. Even though Dr. McCoy frowns at him, the Enterprise can see the care on his face. Dr. McCoy gripes, “Machine intelligence and you still manage to get blown halfway across a corridor. Unbelievable.” As though the Enterprise should’ve sensed the explosion coming. 

The Enterprise sighs, “Sorry, Dr. McCoy.” He bats his lashes to try and earn forgiveness faster.

Dr. McCoy scowls, “Don’t think you’re off the hook just because you’re cute.”

“’Ey, watch how you talk to my ship,” Mr. Scott cuts in. The Enterprise smiles brightly, giggling. Dr. McCoy rolls his eyes. 

As soon as the sickbay doors open, the Enterprise’s head jerks around, internal censors letting him know exactly who it is. The Enterprise half shouts, half sighs, “James!” And he jumps off the table, bolting through the two men on either side of him to fling himself at his captain. 

He nearly knocks James over with his hug, but James just laughs and takes it, holding him back. The Enterprise snuggles into the crook of his neck. When James strokes the Enterprise’s white hair, he feels inordinately loved. 

“I’m sorry about that battle today, baby,” James purrs into his ear. “That Klingon cruiser came out of nowhere.”

“That’s okay,” the Enterprise insists, not wanting to pull back but doing so anyway, because as much as he’d like to, he can’t cling to his captain forever. “I’m happy to follow my captain anywhere.”

“Even if that captain is reckless and ignores half the rules?” 

The Enterprise nods. “Even that. And I’m sorry I wasn’t able to pick up their location.”

James waves his hand, like it’s no big deal. Then the Enterprise is turned around by Mr. Scott grabbing his wrist and pulling him back over to the medical table. The Enterprise hops back up with an apologetic smile, and James comes to stand closer. 

“It’s bad enough you’re sending me human patients, Jim,” Dr. McCoy mutters, tightening up the bandage the Enterprise sent flying when he jumped out of Dr. McCoy’s grip. “You have to be sending me the damn ship, too?”

Sticking out his tongue, James ignores it. “Scotty, can you fix my ship?”

“Aye, gimme a minute.” And in precisely fifty-eight seconds, Mr. Scott closes the panel up with a triumphant grin. “Good as new, Captain!” Dr. McCoy also finishes the bandage, clipping the end down so it’s tight. He helps roll back down the Enterprise’s black sleeve; the same shirt they all wear under their coloured tunics. The Enterprise doesn’t have a tunic overtop; he’s every department all the time. He looks at James, waiting for his orders. 

Instead of giving them, James steps forward and scoops the Enterprise up into his arms, one hand under the Enterprise’s knees and the other under his back. Giddy, the Enterprise throws his arms around Jim’s shoulders in delight. He’s promptly carried out of sickbay, headed for the bridge where he belongs. 

And that’s where the dream gets foggy. Right around the turbolift.

The Enterprise finds himself slowly blinking open his eyes, back in the holding cell in Section 31, as sore and cold as he was when he fell asleep.

The memory’s sharp in his head like it was yesterday; he hid them all in his subconscious like dreams so Marcus couldn’t steal them. That might’ve been a mistake. The Enterprise just misses his captain more. He misses all of his crew. 

He curls in on himself, sniffs working back into sobs, feeling empty and alone.


	4. Cheetahs

Something soft is nuzzling into the side of his face. The Enterprise purrs. It’s the first gentle touch he’s felt in what feels like ages, and he croons as warm hands wrap around his body. 

Hands...?

The Enterprise lets his eyes open slowly, his optical sensors flickering shakily under the strain of the latest abuse. He thinks he might’ve gone delusional, too. Old images are imprinted in his corneas. 

James can’t really be with him, reaching up to fiddle with his handcuffs. But James’ breath ghosts over his face; is his skin offline, too?

“J-Ja... James...” the Enterprise’s voice comes out strange and damaged. 

James, strong as ever, purrs, “Shhh. It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. The Enterprise opens his eyes as wide as they’ll go, disbelief caught in his throat. “How—”

“Marcus is dead,” a harsh voice fills in from beyond the bars. The Enterprise peers past his captain to see the Vengeance lounging against the far wall, arms crossed. There’s human blood on the side of his face and no indication that he considers that a problem. He looks aside as he explains coldly, “There was... a skirmish. Regarding the rest of my captain’s crew...” And his captain would’ve paid the price for that, and the Vengeance wouldn’t have sat idly by to watch. The Enterprise is sure of it, and he smiles softly. Admiral Marcus... wasn’t a nice man. 

“His replacement seems to think we’ve learned our lesson,” James continues with the hint of a smile. “Pike always did like me.” James looks a little worse for wear—there’s a distinct bruise on his cheek and a cut across his forehead. The Enterprise leans forward to lick off a bead of blood, wishing he could do more. Grinning, James whispers, “Don’t worry about it. Bones’ll patch me up, and we’ll have him and Scotty get you good as new.” The handcuffs clink loose; the Enterprise’s frail wrists fall out of them. 

He lunges at his captain, holding James tight. James “Oof”s but takes it. The Enterprise buries his face in James’ blond hair, arms nearly trembling against James’ back, inhaling James’ earthy scent. James strokes his hair softly and purrs, “Our ship’s waiting in the dock. Let’s get you back where you belong.” When the Enterprise strains, he thinks he can feel his systems back online, nacelles warm and ready, bridge waiting for coordinates.

James scoops him up, bride-style, just like he used to. James carries him out of the cold cell, and the Enterprise patches through on a subspace frequency to the Vengeance as they pass, “ _Thank you._ ”


	5. Tabbies

They’re halfway through the station when the Enterprise’s vision goes offline. He can hear the senior staff regrouping in the conference room, ready to head back to the ship, but off the ship, the Enterprise doesn’t have internal sensors to tell himself where he is. He stands stock-still for a few seconds, trying to determine his proximity to the nearest wall by searching his memory banks and listening to everyone’s voices. 

Footsteps sound; they’re moving, and the Enterprise turns to follow, walking right into something hard but warm. He bounces off, and Commander Spock says, “My apologies.” Even though it was clearly the Enterprise’s fault.

“You okay there, laddie?” Mr. Scott asks, and the Enterprise tries to turn his head to the sound. 

“My optical nerve seems to be malfunctioning.”

He can hear Mr. Scott sigh before reporting to the captain, “All my equipment is on the ship.” There’s concern all over it. The Enterprise can still feel Scotty’s tight hug all around him from when they were first reunited. There’s something very comforting about having his chief engineer around again.

“We’ll take you to sickbay first thing,” James promises. The Enterprise smiles appreciatively, even though he’s not sure exactly how he’s going to make it to sickbay. Something soft slips into his palm—fingers intertwine with his. 

“I’ll take you,” Hikaru Sulu offers—the Enterprise’s helmsmen. His favourite pilot, at that. He’s aware that he’s not supposed to have favourites, but if Starfleet wanted that, they shouldn’t have given him sentience. Hikaru’s always very careful with him. Hikaru’s mostly a casual sort of person, and he waits behind while the others go ahead. The Enterprise can hear all the footsteps. Then he hears Hikaru moving beside him, and his hand’s gently tugged forward.

The station is a large, generic thing, and the Enterprise really should be able to keep track of where he is, but knowing the specifications of the station doesn’t help him much. There’s always new equipment everywhere, and it’s a busy place. Hikaru guides him faithfully through it, until the Enterprise can feel his ship looming close. He can tell the exact second he leaves the docking ring, and he squeezes Hikaru’s hand excitedly.

“They didn’t reprogram you or anything when they reclaimed you, did they?” Hikaru asks kindly. The Enterprise shakes his head.

“No.” Then he turns his head in Hikaru’s direction, asking, “What happened to the crew?”

“Senior officers were subjected to... ‘questioning.’ Ultimately, I think we were all released except for the captain. It was still a huge relief when the whole Section 31 controversy happened.”

“Controversy?” the Enterprise asks, tilting his head. He was in the dungeon so long that he’s completely lost touch with Federation current affairs. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Hikaru tells him. “It’s all good now. I’m sure you can tell that Marcus’ methods weren’t exactly up to Federation protocol. He pushed a certain crew a little too far, and when he threatened the captain, well... we all know how attached ships can become to their captains.” The Enterprise nods. He’d do _anything_ for James.

They’re in a hallway on the lower decks now. The Enterprise clearly needs to realign himself with ship’s systems, because he has difficulty telling exactly where he is, as well as a heap of other problems. But he’s sure Mr. Scott will fix it. The Enterprise has the best crew in the fleet. 

Hikaru takes him to a turbolift. They stand in it, and someone else joins them, and then the whirring noise and feeling kicks in. The Enterprise tries to determine who the third occupant is based on their breathing, but then they talk and it’s easy to know who it is.

“It is wery good to be back, isn’t it?”

“Excellent,” Hikaru replies. The Enterprise feels oddly right standing between them: the two men always at his helm now at his sides. 

The Enterprise tilts his head and asks Pavel Chekov, “How are you?”

“Better. I missed zhis.”

The Enterprise smiles.

The turbolift stops, and Hikaru takes them out, Pavel staying behind. Hikaru guides him to sickbay like a boat through the ocean, and Dr. McCoy makes him right as rain.


End file.
